


Such a Dangerous Game

by castielsangel_x



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Assassin/Templar Relationship, Eventual Smut, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Secret Relationship, Sexual Content, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-14 01:37:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7146872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castielsangel_x/pseuds/castielsangel_x
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU of AC: Syndicate. Jacob treads in forbidden waters, an act that could compromise all that he stands for. But he finds he does not care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Such a Dangerous Game

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first story for this pairing. As you've seen from the summary, it is an alternate universe from the game, as in things happen that wouldn't happen in the game. Please be gentle with me.

The metallic tang of blood filled his mouth and the room was filled with the smell of sweat, ale and cigar smoke as Jacob Frye took another mean right hook to the cheek. He just prayed he wouldn’t lose any teeth while he indulged in this little hobby. He attended the fight clubs to get away from Evie at times, who spoke of Templars and shrouds and ‘avenging Father’ day in and day out. Jacob had had enough. He blocked a punch that came swinging in from his left, taking hold of the brute’s wrist and twisting it until he heard a crack, not enough to break, flipping him over his shoulder to land hard on his back. The brute coughed and spluttered as he was winded, cradling his wrist to his chest. Jacob was ready for the next brute to appear, coming to defend their fallen comrade. Jacob ducked and dodged, only a few punches getting past his blockade yet not doing enough damage to stop him. Jacob finished them all off quickly, walked past groaning bodies lying all around the ring.

“Good fight, my lord,” Topping exclaimed from the side of the ring. “Excellent. Simply exquisite.” Jacob tried not to roll his eyes as Topping passed him a towel to dry himself and a tankard of ale. “Bets are pouring in for you to win. Tidy little profit for you too at the end of the night for participating.”

“Cheers,” Jacob said, raising his tankard to Topping before he drank the whole thing in one, the ale warm yet still as refreshing as it could be. The current fight club was located inside a grand building in Westminster, the entire ground floor covered in a huge fighting ring, tables and chairs around it with extra seating up on the balconied areas above. Every time Jacob had participated in the past, it was full. Tonight was no different. He could see other brutes eyeing him for a good beating so he thought he better not disappoint them. He handed his towel and tankard back to Topping before he climbed back into the ring. Just then, the main door opened and in walked bloody _Blighters_ and Jacob knew he would be outnumbered if they decided to go for him. They parted to each side of the double doors and in walked the last person Jacob would have imagined. The Templar Grand Master himself. Crawford Starrick stood there, dressed to the nines in a fancy suit, looking so out of place it was hilarious. Jacob found himself staring, wondering why the fuck he had decided it was a good idea not to wear his bracer. One jump out the ring and a sprint up the stairs and he’d have had his hidden blade buried in the man’s jugular, solving all of their problems straight away. Starrick descended the staircase slowly, taking in his surroundings as he did so, his eyes meeting with Jacob’s eventually. Jacob straightened, staring right into the Grand Master’s gaze and holding it. He felt his whole body tense in Starrick’s presence. He knew he should kill him, he _knew_. Evie would scold the living _shit_ out of him for even waiting _this_ long and the man had only walked in the door. Others seemed to notice the Grand Master, watching as he weaved between tables and up to Topping, taking out some money and whispering something to him before looking up at Jacob quickly. Was the Templar _betting_ on him? Topping nodded vigorously and indicated Starrick to take a seat, that the fight was about to begin. The Templar nodded and he did as he was asked, one of the Blighters handing him a tankard of ale. He took it before he pulled out a cigar and lit it. Jacob was too preoccupied staring at the man in front of him, he only just registered the movement of someone else in the ring and he was quick to duck and slide along the floor, tripping his opponent.

“Nice try,” Jacob said before he raised his fists and threw the first punch into the brute’s windpipe as he stood. The man clutched his throat gasping for breath and Jacob took the chance to shove him, right over the edge of the ring and down to the floor at Crawford Starrick’s feet. Starrick barely glanced at the heap at his feet. His eyes were fixed on Jacob, unnerving him slightly. He had made no attempts to send any of his Blighters at him. They all kept their distance, as if Jacob wasn’t there at all. Starrick puffed away at his cigar, watching Jacob through a thin cloud of smoke. Two more opponents entered the ring and with a well placed elbow to one’s stomach and a knee slamming between the other’s legs, Jacob had them both on the floor in moments, groaning in pain. The room cheered for Jacob but all the assassin could see was the impressed smirk on Starrick’s face. He hopped out of the ring and back to Topping, who gave him more ale and his towel again. He cleared the sweat from his brow and chest before knocking back the ale. “I’m done for today.” Topping nodded and handed him his shirt. Jacob pulled it on and before he knew it, he’d sat down in the chair opposite Crawford Starrick, staring at the other man over the table. “What brings the Grand Master to the lowest of the low? Wouldn’t have imagined that fight club would be your style.” Evie would have hung him up by his balls by now if she could only see him. Starrick took a long draw of his cigar.

“Would you believe that even Templars get sick and tired of money-hungry politicians and meetings and paperwork?” Starrick said and Jacob was taken aback for a moment. His voice was softer than he thought it would be and the man sounded ... tired. “Fight club is entertaining. And you, dear boy, are a natural.”

“It’s not really _natural_ to compliment the enemy,” Jacob said, taking another sip of his ale. “So, you’re not here to kill me, so what are you doing here, really?”

“Killing you here would be too easy, Mr Frye ...” he said, smirking as Jacob looked at him with an expression that could only be described as ‘I’d love to see you try.’ Crawford took another drag of his cigar before holding up his hands. “I am not here to kill you. We are here for the same reason. To let off some steam.”

“Are you going to get in there and punch someone then? Nothing better than letting off steam with some well placed punches,” Jacob said. “I would hate to see you get your pristine suit dirty though.” Jacob found his eyes roaming over the Templar Grand Master. He looked unarmed, an ill-advised move for the most dangerous man in London. Who knows who would be out to kill him? Yet the entourage of Blighters and guards he had brought with him was enough to bring down any one who dared to murder their boss. Starrick obviously could sense him looking at him because he turned to face him, his own eyes scanning over the assassin.

“I’m afraid I am only here for the _entertainment_ , not the participation,” he said, stubbing out his cigar and taking a drink of ale, trying not to grimace at the taste. “I have already made a tidy little profit since I walked through those doors, betting on you.”

“Why would you bet on me, Mr Starrick? We’re supposed to be enemies,” he said, taking a drink of his own ale.

“Yet you came to sit with me, Mr Frye,” he said, with a smirk. “Something clearly interests you. Are you trying to make me _trust_ you so that you can stick your hidden blade through my throat when I least expect it?” Jacob narrowed his eyes. Oh God, how he _wanted_ to at this moment to shut the cocky bastard up. “ _You_ interest _me_ , Mr Frye.”

“How so?” Jacob cocked an eyebrow at that.

“Well, how about we chat about that over another drink?” he said and signalled for two more drinks to be brought over.

“Didn’t pin you as an ale drinker, Starrick,” Jacob commented before two more ales were put down on the table in front of them. The Grand Master smirked.

“Only when I come here,” he said. “Call the entertainment, the ale and a good cigar or two my only vices.”

“Come here often?” Jacob asked before he inwardly groaned at how flirtatious he sounded. The Templar looked so amused. “I ... did not mean it like that.”

“Like I said, it is a vice. I have to get out sometimes,” he said. Topping was suddenly at the table, handing Starrick his winnings from his betting, who immediately tucked it inside his coat, nodding his thanks. “Is Miss Frye not joining you this evening?” Jacob narrowed his eyes at the mention of Evie.

“ _Miss_ _Frye_ doesn’t lower herself to my level, or so she says, and frequent fight clubs ‘when there is a war on’,” Jacob mimicked his sister’s voice before he took a large gulp of his ale. “She keeps away from me most of the time.” Why on Earth was he telling the enemy all of this? _Why_?

“Maybe she is sensible,” Starrick said and he, too, took a drink, his eyes on Jacob. Jacob tried not to look offended, knowing Starrick meant his answer to be about Evie not frequenting the fight clubs.

“Why do you stare at me so?” Jacob asked, feeling slightly hot under the scrutinizing gaze.

“You are different to how I thought you would be, dear boy. I had it under the impression that there would be a knife jammed into my neck or a bullet between my eyes by now,” he said, yet Jacob didn’t move.

“Maybe you’re not the only one who is tired, Starrick,” he said. Starrick frowned gently.

“I do not know...”

“You know damn well what I mean. I can hear it in your voice just as you can hear it in mine. The fight no longer interests you as it once did, or you would have had me killed by now,” he said. “You would have gladly seen me suffer, but not now. Why?” The Templar took a deep breath.

“It is as you said ... I am tired,” Starrick answered. They both fell silent, the silence strangely comfortable rather than terribly awkward. Starrick looked up at the ring, two new fighters entering and commencing their round. Jacob took a moment to take in Starrick while he was distracted. The older man obviously took care of himself, his hair slicked back immaculately and his moustache groomed to perfection. His eyes were grey-blue and he had light lines on his forehead, more than likely from sitting listening to Templars with a frown on his face. His nose was strong and his cheekbones were sharp, his well trimmed sideburns dusting his cheeks. He was something else, Jacob would admit to himself, but never to anyone else. He was an assassin. He didn’t go around ‘checking out’ Templars. “You are staring.” Starrick had addressed him without even turning.

“Apologies,” Jacob said, flushing red at being caught before he almost buried his face in his tankard so he didn’t have to look at the Grand Master. He heard Starrick sigh before he heard the scrape of his chair in the floor, the Templar standing and dropping some coins on the table.

“I best be on my way ...” he said. “It was ... interesting to finally meet you in person, Mr Frye.” Jacob tried to ignore the pang of disappointment in his chest that he was leaving. He nodded his head to Jacob and began to walk away before the assassin called out to him, making him turn back.

“Jacob,” he said, a small crease between Starrick’s brows. “Call me Jacob.” Starrick smiled ever so slightly.

“Goodnight ... Jacob,” he said before he was walking upstairs and out the double doors, the Blighters following him out. Jacob watched Starrick leave until the door closed and he picked up his ale and gulped down the remaining ale, gasping for breath when he was finished. If Evie knew he’d sat and conversed with their main target, he’d be her next one. Something about the Grand Master was completely different from how Henry Green had described him. Nothing about the man who had sat with him and drank with him screamed ‘warning.’ The man was tired, just as Jacob himself was. Tired of fighting, tired of death and despair. That was why Jacob stayed away from Evie’s hunt for the Piece of Eden. He knew Starrick desired it too, but what was their difference in reasoning, really?  One thing was for sure, Jacob knew he wanted to be in his company again.

\---------------

“Where have you been?” Evie almost screeched at him as he entered the train compartment just after midnight. Jacob took off his top hat and threw it down on the couch before he sprawled over the cushions, sighing gently.

“I was down at Topping’s fight club,” he said. “Why?”

“I got a report that Starrick visited a fight club tonight. Same one as you by any chance?” she asked and Jacob put on his best pissed off face at her question.

“If he had visited the same fight club as me, he’d be dead, Evie,” he said. “I can simply say that I have not killed Crawford Starrick this fine evening.” He hiccupped a few times from the ale he had drunk. “I’m tired and I’m sore. I’m going to bed.” He got off the couch, brushing past his sister briskly to go to his compartment, closing the door behind him and drawing his curtains over the window. He stripped quickly of his holsters and weapons and his boot, along with his heavy overcoat. He lay down on his bed, getting comfortable. Staring at the ceiling, he thought back to Starrick, their chance meeting and how much he realised that killing the man was not the main priority on his list. In fact, he wanted to see him again. Jacob felt a stirring in his trousers at the mere thought of the man and he groaned inwardly. _No, please, not Starrick, anyone but Starrick_ , he thought to himself. One hand gently unlaced his trousers and he slid his hand inside, touching his slowly wakening cock. “Why did it have to be him?” he whispered to himself as he rubbed a hand over himself, feeling it slowly hardening in his hand. Then he quickly removed his hand from himself. “What am I doing?” He sat up and ran his hands over his face.

He’d only just met Crawford Starrick and he already wanted more.


End file.
